We crossed the majority of the park to a plateau just at the edge of it where the chopper landed. I climbed out, stretching my legs, and walked to a foot or so from the precipice and looked down. Below, about four hundred feet, was a gorge where a river snaked through. Somewhere, in this three miles of rugged canyon country, a portal to someplace no one wanted to visit needed to be found and sealed permanently.
Slowly, I raised my eyes upward, studying the sharp cuts in the stone that made the canyon walls. No path on the far side and as near as I could tell, nothing on this side either. The crosswinds in the canyon made it too dangerous for the chopper to go down, so we would be rappelling or climbing down. Of the two, I preferred rappelling. It was quicker, and I didn’t excel at climbing.
But I worried about the priest. How would he get down there? At his age, I didn’t imagine he would rappel.
As it turned out, Lucca had the solution. They’d brought a huge basket that had been secured to the bottom of the chopper. They’d intended it for dropping the supplies, but it would also lower the skinny priest.
“We can lower you down in it also, Gillian,” Lucca said with a cheerful grin.
“No, thanks. I’ll rappel. Although, I might take you up on it for the return trip.” I wasn’t sure I’d be up to climbing back up the cliff face after we’d finished. If we finished.
I watched as the Vatican agents secured the lines and clamps at the top of the cliff, then dropped four ropes over the side, each four hundred feet long. They loaded the basket with camping gear and sent that down first, then Ferko clamped onto a line and went over the edge without a moment’s hesitation.
At least I was in the hands of experts. Bob paced, then paused for a bit, dug his hands in his jeans pocket, and rocked on his heels. Nervous.
“You haven’t done this before, have you?”
He shook his head, his mouth a worried-looking line. “No, Miss Gillian. Too bad we can’t just project into the cave like we did to the seashore.”
“Yeah. It would be easier, but we need to physically do this, or so it seems.” Confront the enemy in reality. Take on a demon. Sure, I needed to do this.
Orielle set herself up on the third line, tugged against it, then lowered herself over the edge more cautiously than Ferko. Nonetheless, she’d accomplished it with enough ease to suggest she’d done a fair amount of climbing.
I delayed, waiting for the basket to return and the priest to go down. I wanted to see how well that went, but the guys seemed to know what they were doing.
Lucca glanced over and grinned. “It’s the way the monks used to get to the monasteries at Meteora. Long ropes and baskets. They lifted supplies that way also. Ours are better quality.”
“I believe you.” I moseyed over to him and gazed over the side where the basket still sat on the ground, and Ferko’s tiny figure unloaded it. Then he tugged the line and Lucca began pulling it back up.
“Will you be able to hold the basket when Father Vincente is in it?” I asked. With the tug of gravity, it might be hard to grip the rope although I noticed Lucca wore heavy gloves.
“It is not a problem. We have a pulley system rigged that will help take the weight. Perfectly safe.”
Once the basket was back up, Lucca helped the priest to climb into it, then eased it over the side and back down the walls. Father Vincente took it calmly, praying as he went down, but not looking particularly concerned about it.
“He’s done it before,” I stated.
“Yes. It is not his first—how you say?—rodeo.” He followed that with a laugh. “Are you sure you do not want to try?”
I put my bravura on and sauntered to the next rope over; the one Ferko had used. “Nope. I am ready to rappel.”
I caught the harness and hooked it to me, but before I took even a step to go over the side, Lucca came over to confirm that I’d done it correctly. He tugged on the line, checked the loops, and verified the hook, and said, “Now, you are ready.”
I turned and backed off the side of the cliff, my foot reaching to touch the wall, then I followed with my other leg and swung out away from the side letting the line slide me down part of the way before my feet tapped the walls again. I bounced back out and worked my way down to the ground in several small arcs. While my stomach shifted nervously with the first few taps—the memory of my plunge down the grotto in Capri sharp in my mind—my spirit soared with exhilaration by the time I reached the ground.
Ferko waited at the bottom, holding the line, and he caught me before I tumbled into the ground. With an exuberant smile, I gushed, “Piece of cake.”
With a bit of a wobble, I made my way to the campsite where Father Vincente perched on a rolled-up sleeping bag. He looked chipper, unfazed by the descent. He’d said nothing on the whole trip over. Even when Lucca had introduced him, he’d merely nodded his head and cracked a small smile.
“Do you speak any English?” I asked as I pulled up a bag next to him.
His dark brown eyes twinkled as he said, “Yes. A little.”
“You are an expert at sealing the portals?” I asked slowly, hoping he understood the words.
He shrugged. “Maybe. I have done three.” He held up his fingers. Then he held up a flask. “Holy water.”
“Ah, I see.” Did he think holy water would do the trick? “Have you fought demons?” I continued.
Again, he held up the flask and repeated, “Holy water.”
I smiled and turned away. Right, dowse the demon with holy water. That should do it. Maybe he had secret powers. But why would Lucca bring him along if he couldn’t contribute?
Looking toward the top of the cliff, I saw Lucca getting ready with Bob standing close to him. As they got to the edge, it looked like Lucca reached out and tugged Bob’s line closer, then they both backed over the cliff together. As they bounced down the face in unison, I saw that Lucca had linked his line to Bob’s so he could control the swing and make it easier for the Fireball Kid to descend.
At the bottom, Ferko caught Bob on the downward swing and landed him safely like you would a child.
“Whoa! Awesome!” Bob whooped, riding the high from the experience.
With everyone down, we began setting up the camp. The guys put up the tents while Orielle and I arranged the kitchen area if you could call it that. A portable butane stove, two pots and a skillet, and a basin for water to wash formed the core of it. We’d brought mostly canned food that simply needed to be heated. We also packed cereal, canned milk, candy and energy bars, and some fresh fruit. Glad this would only be a couple of days, I turned the basket on its side to create a pantry.
Once that was done, we decided to explore a little, get our bearings, and identify the search pattern we’d use. Lucca thought we should split up into two teams. Ferko would take Orielle and Bob while he would go with the priest and me.
“I’m not sure this is the best idea,” I told Lucca as we started off to the east.
The canyon walls along here were rough with little footing to climb even part way up. I was unsure the priest could hold up to much exploring. Unlike the national parks, this canyon didn’t have official trails through it, but a few clear pathways indicated where some traffic had crossed it often enough to create a walkway. We’d been warned that the vegetation in the area was sensitive to disturbance, so we walked single file to limit contact. However, local fauna seemed oblivious to the rules as a jackrabbit darted across the way and zig-zagged through the desert.
“It is the best way to gauge if there is something that needs more attention,” Lucca answered. “We—the three of us—can all detect the presence of evil. Ferko and Orielle can also. I don’t know if Bob is attuned to it, but he is in good company and can provide protection for the others if they encounter a shade. Just as you can.”
“Well, that part makes sense. But is Father Vincente up to this?”
“Don’t let him fool you. He is stronger than he appears.” Lucca paused to glance behind us where the priest followe
d a few paces back with a hand on his cross and his eyes roving across the steep sides of the canyon.
I shrugged and resumed walking. I tried to focus on the atmosphere in the canyon, reaching my senses out to see if anything felt off or malevolent. Lucca and I both stayed alert for any sign of yiaiwa in the area.
If a portal was there, we felt confident they would be guarding it. Even if Belphegor wanted me to find it, as I suspected he did, he wouldn’t leave it unguarded. Of course, the demon had set the trap to get me, but none of us were safe. My companions thought we were only sealing the portal, blocking the underworld from our territory, but I had my own agenda.
I detected movement from the eastern end of the canyon, a figure moving toward us. I touched Lucca’s arm and bobbed my head in that direction. “Look. What is that?”
He peered where I indicated and shook his head, waiting as the figure got closer. The shape was big, but after a minute or two, as it drew closer, we identified it as a man on a horse. My brow wrinkled in a curious frown. Who would be coming into the canyon?
Lucca urged me on. “Let’s keep searching. If he’s come to see us, we’ll find out soon enough. Going forward will shorten the time. Just be ready in case it is not an ally.”
Ally? Who even knew where we were?
But I stepped forward and continued scouring the cliffs for a possible portal entry. The rock face had many dips of shallow openings, but nothing that looked like it would be recessed enough to shelter an otherworldly entrance to Hell. I didn’t think it would be along this outer rim.
The canyon itself was carved by the river that wound its way through it, still working at adding more depth to the path it followed. As broad as the canyon was, the river must have been enormous at one time to sculpt the sheer sides as it went.
If the portal was here, how long had been in existence? Belphegor wouldn’t have opened it when the whole area was still in its early stage, so it couldn’t have been more than two or three hundred thousand years earlier. Plenty of time for the demon to polish and conceal it.
“Do we know when Belphegor was banished to the underworld?” I asked as Lucca paused to wipe at his brow with a handkerchief.
He set his broad-brimmed hat back in place and shook his head. “No. Any references to when angels fell are vague, and only a few can be placed with any suggestion of a correlating event in Biblical lore. Since Belphegor is the keeper of the portal, we can assume he was one of the early ones.”
“Do you know anything about an angel named Zak?”
“His name is not familiar to me, not even a Zachariah in the list of known angels. Why?”
“Nothing, I guess. He came to me a few times in dreams, and I saw him a couple of times in the interim cemetery. On the evil side of the gate. I assumed he was an angel, but he never said it.”
Lucca’s eyes narrowed as he thought about it, but he just shrugged and resumed walking.
Only a few yards away now, the rider waved an arm at us. Maybe just a friendly greeting, but it seemed like he’d been looking for us. We stopped to wait for him.
As we did, my eyes wandered across to the mesa in the middle of the canyon, an island left as the river split around it. Two or three gouges into the stone looked deep and might be locations to check out.
“Hello,” the stranger called as he urged his horse to go faster to reach us. His ruddy complexion and sharp hawkish features hinted that he had Native American blood. Bouncing to each side, his long black-haired braids, each with a trio of turquoise beads added to his noble look.
As he brought the horse to a halt, he slid off and walked the few more feet to us. He gazed at Lucca then me and cast a quick glance to Father Vincente, who still hung a few feet behind us. His eyes came back to me.
“You are Gillian. I am John Walker, a friend of Gavin’s. He sent me to help you.”
My mouth dropped open. “What?”
Amusement touched Walker’s eyes. “He contacted me this morning and told me you would be coming here.”
“But he’s in a coma,” I objected, doubt reflected in my voice.
“He was. He woke up this morning. He told me about you and what you are doing. This is Ute territory. My tribe. I will do what I can to help you to locate the bad spirits in this area.”
Stuck on the words “he woke up,” it took me a few moments to register the rest of what he’d said. “Your help is welcome, Mr. Walker. We have a big area to search.”
“Call me John. And I can help with that. I think you’ve already noticed the mesa there. My people call it the Devil’s Mount, and our legends speak of spirit thieves who live there.” John stepped toward it as he spoke, positioning himself almost in front as he pointed to it.
While we’d been speaking, Father Vincente had been praying, holding his cross in front of him and turning in slow circles. I’d seen him out of the corner of my eye and wondered what he was doing. Now, he came to a halt as he faced the mesa, raised his free arm, and pointed to an area in the middle of the section just to the right of a deep cut into the rock. He cried out something in Italian, and I turned to Lucca with the question evident in my eyes.
“He says ‘there, it is there.’ I think he may have located the evil,” Lucca answered.
John cracked a smile. “My job is done.”
“Oh, no,” I said and made a grab for his arm. “The priest may not have the right spot, and we need to be sure.”
“I wasn’t going to leave,” John assured me. “But let’s check out that area.”
Our little party reformed and marched toward the area the priest had indicated. The priest followed up at the rear, still holding his cross firmly and pointing like a compass in the direction we trudged.
“What was he doing?” I asked Lucca.
“It’s like divining water, only he uses the cross as the twig, and he feels the pull when there is evil near. It is his gift.”
“So all the circling was to feel which way the pull was coming from?”
“Pretty much. The Father has done it before and is often right.”
I nodded, “And he’s sometimes wrong. Is that what you’re saying?”
Lucca looked amused as he answered, “No one is perfect.”
I turned to John and said, “Tell me about Gavin. You said he woke up, so he’s out of the coma now?”
“I didn’t exactly say that. I said he woke and he talked to me. While he has broken free of the coma, he has not regained consciousness. We spoke spiritually.”
“Oh.” My voice was flat. Great. Priest to the left of me, shaman on the right, and I was stuck in the middle without a clue. Yes, the song’s cadence echoed in my brain.
The priest came to a halt and pointed to a long crack in the mesa. My eyes tracked to where he indicated. The opening looked like a ravine about half-way up. Pulling out my binoculars, I studied it.
“He says there is evil residing in it,” Lucca translated Vincente’s curtly spoken Italian.
“Well, it doesn't look too difficult a climb to reach it. A lot of zigzagging though.” I handed him the binoculars.
“Not as bad as it looks,” John said, “I've climbed some of these crags, and the footing is sound, not slippery. Still, we should rope together for safety.”
I wanted to get to it now that we had a lead. “Absolutely. Let's go on up.”
“Without the others?” Lucca asked, reaching to pull out his phone to call.
“I want to get a look, see what we're facing in there. We should be able to tell if it's the right spot. Then we can come back tomorrow for a full attack. Meanwhile, they can continue to check the other side.”
Lucca's brow wrinkled with a frown, “We come back and seal it, right?”
“Eventually,” I answered, then I deflected. “What about the priest? Leave him here?”
“He will come, of course,” Lucca said like it was given. Then he asked, “What do you mean—”
I stepped away from him before he completed his question and sta
rted toward the mesa. I motioned to John to come along. Leading his horse, the Ute adventurer followed me until we reached the base, then he tied the horse to a scrubby-looking tree that I figured the animal could yank out of the ground if it seriously wanted to run away. He paused to pull a coil of rope and climbing clips from his pack
I started up the slope picking my footing with care. While it might not be slick, small stones still skittered away where I stepped. The make-shift path wandered at a gentle angle upward taking several steps across to gain a few feet up the side. After a few yards, John stopped me with a shout. He'd pulled when he'd secured his horse.
“Time to get connected,” he said, Using loops through the clips, he tied us together at four-foot intervals then linked himself to the front, taking point.
Then we started up in earnest. As I'd noted, the easiest way up wandered back and forth. After the better part of two hours, we'd come to the steepest part of the rise, a sharp angle up that required the use of footholds to climb.
John set the pace up, cutting into the stone where needed, as I followed behind as closely as I could, stretching to reach some of the footholds. Father Vincente impressed me with his spryness and agility for someone his age as he kept up with us easily. Lucca pulled up the trail last,
We reached the crevice where the red stone had been shaped by water and time...or something else...to form a flat floor digging deep into the mesa. At first, light streaked into the fissure from the crack that extended through it from the top surface but gradually, it grew darker as the cut dug deeper into the rock.
I pulled a flashlight from my pack and cast the light ahead of us keeping it low. If any of Belphegor's yiaiwa patrolled the area, we didn't want to alert them, although I readied my power blast.
Gradually, the floor began to slope downward leading us another hundred feet or so before we hit a dead end. Stunned, I turned in the four-foot, more or less, corridor and ran the flashlight over the walls. While smoothly cut, the walls appeared to be solid rock with no breaks to indicate an opening of any sort. Given that smoothness, I had expected this to be the entrance.
A Song of Redemption Page 34
